Elevators
by Remington Rand
Summary: Draco and Harry get stuck in a magic elevator. Fluff ensues. Drarry. Vaguely set during 5th year, pre-GoF. One-shot.


"I _can't believe," _snaps Draco, between gritted teeth, "that I'm stuck in an elevator with _Harry sodding Potter!" _ The Slytherin's features, typically chiseled and cool, are marred with his rage, eyebrows knitted, pink lips curled in a sneer.

"It's not like I'm all too pleased about it either," Potter states, in an uncharacteristic show of coolness, eyes hidden by the unruly mop of hair on his head.

"Who's bright idea was it," Draco snaps, "to install a magic elevator in the _first _place?"

"Oh, do shut up, Malfoy," complains Harry, rubbing his temples as if a migraine was starting. And it was—first pooling behind his eyes and then running sharp daggers up his skull.

"No, _you _shut up, Potter," snipes Draco, in a rare moment of ineloquence.

Harry only responds by pulling his robe over his head, shielding the tinny light above him. The elevator, Draco notes, is ridiculously small, square, and far too warm for his liking. Six by six, Draco guesses, sliding down to the hard steel floor with a sigh.

Draco pauses, smirking at the hooded boy parallel to him, whispering, "You look like an idiot."

"As you frequently remind me," Harry mutters, behind the cloaked darkness.

The blonde boy ignores this, looking at his surroundings once again. _Honestly, _Malfoy muses huffily, _a shield charm on a ridiculous hunk of metal like this. _Malfoy thinks the Wizarding society has been mingling with those damned mudbloods too much.

"Ugh, how much longer are we going to have to _wait?!" _whines Malfoy, yet again.

"It's not _my _fault you wanted to hex me and got us stuck in here," states Harry, pulling the robe from his head.

Malfoy simply scowls in response, silver eyes glittering in contempt.

Harry drums his fingers against the floor, humming no particular tune.

"Do you _have _to be so damned cheerful all the time?"

"This isn't cheer, you sod, this is _patience. _Something you evidently lack." Harry says snarkily, green eyes alight, lips showing a hint of malice.

"I do not lack it, _Potter, _it's just being around _you _that tests me so." The familiar coolness rests on his attractive features, one eyebrow lifted expertly as his lips set in a grim line.

"Right, because I'm chatting your ear off, am I?" Harry says, looking at the ceiling above him. Out of curiosity, Draco follows his gaze, tilting his head up.

There's a brief silence, cut short when the Slytherin asks, "Care to tell me what we're staring at, Potter?"

Harry shrugs, and doesn't answer, looking down at his robe, picking at some nonexistent lint. Briefly, He wonders about Draco's choice of words—_we're, _not _I'm—_but pushes the musings away.

When the shuffling of Malfoy pulling off his robe reaches his ears, Harry looks up. His black t-shirt is tight, wrapping oh-so-deliciously against his biceps, slipping down across his muscles and exposing a thin strip of pale skin, hip bone jutting out like some sort of taunt.

Harry has always wondered why Malfoy's choice of dress was frequently dark, and then has to admit because it looks _damned _good.

"Done ogling yet?" the blonde asks, smirk settling upon his lips much like a cat would on a person's lap.

Harry sighs, shaking his head. "I wasn't ogling, you dolt. Just not used to seeing you without your robe." The excuse is lame, and Harry knows Malfoy thinks so.

There's nothing wrong, Harry thinks, with finding another man attractive. He's straight, not blind.

Mischievousness flitters across the pale face opposite to his, lighting up those steel eyes warmly, causing attraction to furl in Harry's stomach lazily.

"Why, _Potter, _I didn't know you fancied men," he says, with venomous delight. "Wait till Crabbe and Goyle get ahold of _this,"_

Frustration runs through Harry's veins like a pack of wolves, "You will say no such thing," he snarls, "because _I'm not gay." _ His dark hair parts, emerald eyes shining with heat, boring into Draco's own grey ones. It makes a small jolt of uneasiness shoot into his veins.

With a long sigh, Harry pulls away from the gaze, ripping his robe off with such a pout it makes Draco bite his cheek to prevent a guffaw from escaping his lips. And then the pressure increases, because Draco then realizes that the scrawny boy he once knew was, in fact, growing into quite the attractive man.

"_Why, Malfoy," _mocks Harry, _"I didn't know you fancied men." _

Draco rolls his eyes. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? My _apologies, _Potter, but the female form is _so _much more attractive than that gangly form of yours."

_Though it's not gangly at all, _Draco thinks silently, _it's actually rather nice. _

No matter, Draco muses, pushing the thoughts away with an unconscious twitch of his fingers, he's a _boy _and a fully heterosexual one at that. Though which boy that thought is about is unclear.

Potter jolts Malfoy out of his thoughts with a surprising sense of gutso. "Prove it," he says, and Malfoy stares at him for half a second before recovering quickly with a scowl.

"I don't have to prove anything to you, _Potter_." The emphasis on his name causes a quick glimpse of his pink tongue.

Harry shrugs, a smirk playing on his lips. "Well, I guess everyone's going to think we're _both _shagging blokes then, eh?"

Malfoy tries to play it off like it doesn't matter, but his eyes meet the green ones and he finds himself wondering what, exactly, the darker haired boy was going to propose.

Draco's curiosity gets the best of him, and he mutters, "Prove it how?"

Harry grins, and says, "I dare you kiss Professor Sprout." Draco's expression of horror causes Harry to laugh, the sound bouncing against the steel walls.

"Bloody hell, Potter! I'd kiss the Weasel before my lips went anywhere near hers!"

Harry ignores the jab at his friend and runs his tongue across his teeth before answering, "I never told you _where _you had to kiss her, Malfoy." The chesire grin is infuriating, and Draco wants to slap it off, he really does.

_Interesting, _Harry muses, _he could have said 'that mudblood' or 'the Weaselette'. But he didn't. _

Draco just settles to glare at him, scowling.

"You know," Harry says, his smile somehow becoming wider, "that implies you don't have an issue with kissing a boy."

"Potter, I know you find me attractive, as would I, if I were in your position," Draco begins with a great flourish of hands, "but you really cannot convince me to kiss you, even with the cleverest of words."

"Who says I'm trying to convince you," Harry says, his tone suddenly darkening, annoyance crawling across his face, "I wouldn't kiss you if your life depended on it."

"You had your choice, once," Draco says, an uncertainty in his eyes. This isn't exactly the clearest of words, but Harry doesn't pick up on it.

This appeals to his Gryffindor sense of morality and Harry sighs, almost as if it's in surrender, and says, neutrally, "You might be a jerk, but I certainly wouldn't wish you dead."

"Because you're _so good." _Malfoy deadpans.

Harry ignores this, deciding to stay silent until they can _finally _part ways.

Malfoy intends on making this difficult, it seems, because he suddenly asks, trying to seem off-hand, "Who was your first kiss?"

Harry actually blushes at this, for reasons unknown. It's just Malfoy, after all. "Why would you want to know?" The oral fixation is really his fault, but Harry refuses to acknowledge it.

Draco pretends to look bored and shrugs. "Would you prefer we stay silent and have the time go by slower?"

"I haven't had one. Well, not a _real _one."

Draco seems surprised, and Harry is pleased to see so.

"What about the Weaselette?"

"We did. Sort of. Just…it wasn't…"

Draco raises an eyebrow at this, and cuts him off. "This is rather sad, you know. I know you're supposed to be stunted, but even this is a new low for you, Potter."

He expects Potter to snarl back, tingeing his defense with a whine of some sort. Potter doesn't, and it kind of surprises him.

"Who was yours?" Harry asks, and at Malfoy's slighted expression, sighs.

"If you must know," Draco says, conveniently forgetting he was the one to start up with the topic in the first place, "It was Pansy. She was rather dreadful at it." Draco makes a face at the memory, and then adds randomly, "We were eleven."

Harry mulls over this for a moment, running his index finger across his knuckles in, what Draco thought, as a rather enticing way. He wonders what that bit of skin would feel like.

"Did you ever, you know…" Harry trails off, raised eyebrows hinting at the act he was referring to.

Draco shrugs. "Once." He offers no more explanation and Harry doesn't ask for an elaboration.

"You?" Draco asks, after a few moments of silence, and then snorts at declination. "Well that's rich," he says, smirking, "the Golden Boy's a _virgin." _

The tables are turned, and Draco is grinning like a madman, thoroughly pleased with this new bit of information. "There are plenty of other things you can do, Potter, than actual intercourse. Not that you would know."

"Like you're any more experienced," Harry says wryly.

"I'll have you know," Draco says snidely, "That I am infinitely experienced."

There's a pause again, tension drifting in the air between them.

Harry leans in a little too close, and says, with a whisper, "Prove it."

In retrospect, those two little words should not have had the effect that they did. But Draco, in the moment, is not thinking of the _why's. _He's thinking of the impulses, and of the very short distance he could close between them.

So he does.

And for a Slytherin, Draco's lips are quite soft. And warm. And he _is _rather good at this.

Hands threaded though fistfuls of hair, Draco finds himself leaning in rather than pulling away, and it doesn't make any sense because he _hates _Harry fucking Potter.

When the two boys finally part, gasping for air, Harry whispers, _"I take it back."_

"What?" Draco is surprised at how raspy his voice is.

"I've had a real kiss," Harry says, his smirk contradicting the innocence in his voice.

Draco just chuckles, the sound barely much louder than his own breathing, and pulls the boy he hates to his lips again.


End file.
